I will wait for you in Baton Rouge
Miss you down in New Orleans
I'll wait for you while she slips into something comfortable
I'll miss you when I'm slipping in between
- Counting Crows

She reminded him of Marie. That was the first thought of the man know as Wolverine as he stared at the young girl three bar stools down. She'd be around the right age too, twenty-something. But her hair was a pure chocolate brown with not a hint of white so he turned back to his drink.

Maybe she had felt his stare. Maybe she was just looking for trouble. Or a fuck. Either way he felt a spark when she looked up from her drink, naked fingers playing with the ice filling the cheap plastic glass. She gave him the once over. Ripped and worn jean jacket, layers of flannel underneath, 'retro' sideburns as Marie once said, trying to get a rise out of him with her chatter. He had been just waking from his coma then. Her soft voice was gone before he could speak.

His dark eyes met the girl's over his tall glass of beer. He sniffed, letting the girl's scent clue him into her mental state. He could smell interest, a bit of lust and no fear which was nice. Underneath it all he smelled something older, something familiar. It reminded him of himself. Before his mind could process all the conflicting stimuli his mouth had already began to move.

"What are you drinking?" his voice was rough, out of use, always with a hint of a growl behind it.

"Black Russian," she replied, clinking the glass with a lazy fingertip. Her voice was without any honey sweet accent and he was grateful for it.

He could never decide whether Marie was a good memory or not. Her voice was soft and understanding, her hair and the feel of her skin was like silk against his senses but thinking of her always made him remember broken promises and a buried sense of duty. Wolverine did not want to feel indebted to anyone and he told himself that saving her life had cleared him of anything he to owed her or the X-men. But then why had he made the promise that would forever haunt him? Unconsciously his hand stole to his throat, coming away empty like every other day in the past five years since he had left Xavier's mutant sanctuary.

"A black Russian and a whiskey. Double," he snapped at the bartender, pointing at himself and the girl who was now seated beside him. She placed one small, pale hand on his.

"That was sure rude, solider. My Mother always said you don't snap at anything but dogs." His hand tensed under hers but she massaged his knuckles until the urge to pop his claws went away. He wondered if she could feel the points of metal, itching to break through.

The bartender set down their glasses, sloshing a bit of whiskey on the already damp bar. The dark haired girl downed the whiskey shot before he could say a word. Her cheeks reddened fetchingly.

"How old are you?" the Wolverine asked before he could stop himself. He really didn't want to know.

She licked her lips slowly and moved closer to him, her breath hot against his skin. "Twenty-one. But I've had a taste for the hard stuff since I was maybe..." she shrugged delicately, "sixteen." She arched one perfect eyebrow. "Does that bother you old man?"

He growled. "You're a bit cocky for such a little thing, ain't you?"

She smiled so mysteriously that even Mona Lisa would be proud. "I can take care of myself." He wondered for the first time if she was a mutant. "Are you going to have that?" she pointed to the dark drink in front of him. He shook his head wordlessly, searching her white face for any sign she was one of them. He found no answers, just long lashes and full lips. He still couldn't shake the ghost of Marie. He tried to picture her face in his mind but had become hazy. All he could remember was the silk gloves, dark hair with a shock of white, and of course, that low lilting voice. Her eyes, her smile were lost to him now.

She looked down at the glass, dark lashes resting against her cheek. The drink turned to ice under her fingers.

The Wolverine started. Shit. "I knew a boy who could do that once." He studied her for any sign of recognition.

"Really?" she smiled faintly, showing a few pearly white teeth. Wherever she had come from she had been taken care of. Her hair was shiny, skin pale but soft. Her clothes looked worn but fit her like they had been tailored for her curves. Running from a rich daddy perhaps? He didn't think so. "That's interesting," but her voice communicated that it was anything but. "It's great for dinner parties," she said with a unladylike snort. Eyes narrowing, she met him in a direct stare. "Do you have a room?" His eyes widened but she just moved closer, her lips against his ear. "I'd like to take a bath." She bit down on his earlobe and then laved the hurt with her tongue. His hands tightened on her waist, drawing her nearer.

"Yes," he replied and it was a whisper. She slipped off her chair, gracefully moving between his legs. He shivered. She bit on his neck, nibbling on the underside of his jaw. He lifted her up, as light as a feather, moving her out of his way. He jumped off his stool a bit uncomfortably, his animal raging inside of him. She snuck her cool hands inside his jacket, resting on his hips. "Let's go," she whispered.

The Wolverine nodded.

---

He shut the door behind them, reaching for the lights. They flickered on slowly, the fluorescent bulbs humming. She surveyed the place silently. Bed unmade, a bloody shirt thrown on a chair. Still she exuded no fear. Amazing. "Cozy," she smirked a bit, as if remembering a private joke. The flickering lights playing against her features. She had heart shaped lips, he realized. He thought they were a myth made up by high-class porno mags. She took off her black shirt lazily, letting him enjoy the sight of the curves only hinted to underneath her clothes. Her bra was black, lifting up her creamy white breasts.

"Have you ever seen the sun?" he whispered. He treated her like she was skittish colt even though she showed no signs of bolting. A sad smile graced her features.

"No, I don't think so." Her hips swayed in her tight black jeans as she stalked over to him. She took his hands into hers, moving them to the front clasp of her bra. Goosebumps spread from where his fingers brushed the tops of her breasts.

"Have you ever been touched by anything but silk?" he asked, amazed by how soft she was. Nothing was ever soft in his world. She stilled his questing hands, looking at him with startled eyes. Looking... for something. A new scent entered the air, smelling very much like alarm mixing with anticipation. Her eyes dropped to his chest and he wondered if she had found what she was looking for. A smiling mask covered her features and he concluded that no, she hadn't.

"I've been wrapped up in silk for too long." She pushed his jacket off, letting if fall to the floor. "That's the whole point." He raised his arms and let her strip off the rest of his layers. His hands found the top button of her jeans and she smiled at her peeled them off of her. She had nothing on underneath.

She waked into the bathroom and he watched her swaying ass as she bent over, testing the temperature water running into the small tub.

"Been here long?" He shook his head even though she couldn't see it. If he though hard enough could she hear him?

"A couple of months," he replied. She tossed her long hair over one shoulder. It waved over her almost reaching the dip of her back. His fingers itched to touch it and bury his face in it, longed to feel it tease his body.

"Where do you call home, solider?" She returned to the small bedroom and pulled a little tube of something out of the pocket of her jacket. Bubble bath? The Wolverine was starting to get curious but strangely enough, not suspicious. How long had she been planning this? It had the feel of a well rehearsed ballet.

"I don't have a home." Again she turned her piercing gaze on him. "Funny. You look like a man too far from home."

He grunted. "Maybe I had a home once. But not anymore. It's been too long."

"Home is where the heart is." The running water stopped, steam rising from the foamy bath.

"I don't put much stock into anything that can be stitching into a pillow." Marie would have laughed. Or at least smiled at his attempt. The girl just nodded.

"What's your name?" he asked, this time wanting to know the answer.

"Summer," she replied.

He ran one hand through the lock of hair by her ear, smelling the dye on it for the first time. "You don't look much like a Summer." He ran the dark brown hair over his cheek, lips.

She grinned saucily. "The man that named me was color-blind. The whole world was just one great shade of red for him. "

"What's your real name?" His hands slid down her arms, keeping her trapped.

"Summer is as good as any. Given to me by a friend. There are too many others. Carol Danvers, Raven Darkholme, Bobby. Even one given to me by a man like yourself, a solider."

He winced. No one this young should sound so sad. So angry. He cupped her cheek in one rough palm. "I'll call you Summer, okay kid? And you can call me..." he stumbled over his true name. "You can call me Wolverine. It's better then solider." She nodded solemnly.

Summer leaned up and pressed her lips against his very softly. He kept his eyes open, marveling at the beauty of dark lashes against a pale cheek. Pulling away from him, she slipped one small foot into the tub, gasping at the temperature. She let her whole body sink into the heat and sighed. Wolverine dipped one finger in, running it over her smooth legs, feeling the water cool as her body became pink and flushed.

"Why a bath?" he asked.

She leaned against the back of the tub, eyes shut. "I wanted to be warm for you. And it helps me control my new powers. May I have a towel?" she added quickly.

He unfolded one from the nearby rack, holding it out for her. "Late bloomer?" She walked into the towel, letting him hug her through the thin material.

"You could say that." Her face was hidden in his chest.

The bath had turned to ice.

They moved to the bed as one. Her heated skin warmed his as she slid down him, removing his jeans as she went. She kissed one calf, following the tendon up to his hip. He shuddered and pulled her up to him, crushing her lips in a kiss that seemed to start in the middle. Summer's mouth open tentatively under his, and his thoughts flickered back to a young, scared girl in a cloak and gloves whose first kiss led to a coma. He wished he could see her face. But Summer's tongue soon washed away any thoughts but her.

---

She gasped as he entered her, pain filling her eyes with tears as she tightened around him. He propped himself up on his elbow, muscles straining. "Is this... your first time?" his voice was full of wonder.

She shook her head, eyes closed firmly. "Once before." He moaned as she moved beneath him. She clutched him tighter, her legs holding him closer with superhuman strength. "Please, don't stop," she begged, voice breaking.

"Shush." He kissed her tears away. "Shhh, darlin, my summer." He moved slowly and soon her rocking matched his.

When he came he pressed his face tightly against her hair, kissing her forehead. She shuddered beneath him, letting his tremors wash over her, new tears prickling at her eyes.

He fell into a deep sleep, hoping for once that the girl would still be there in the morning.

So of course, she wasn't.

---

The man known as Wolverine woke alone, the air cold against his skin, the pillow even colder against his cheek. He shifted, grumbling, reaching for someone a quick sniff told him wasn't there. The sting of freezing metal was on his face and when he grabbed it he could hear the slide of a chain. His eyes shot open, claws out. The necklace fell into his naked lap. His fingers traced the numbers, familiar even after five years. "Wolverine." He read off the tags. He clutched the old dog tags so tightly the blunt metal cut into his skin.

A single tear ran down his face and froze on his cheek as he remembered the familiar smell that had come off the girl in the bar. It had smelled like him.

It had smelled like that blue bitch, a young boy with a crush and other people he couldn't identify.

It had smelled like self loathing, running and goodbye.

And underneath all of that, it had smelled like Marie.